Fever
by DIVIDED-LEGION
Summary: My name is Julia Jones, or JJ, and I want to be a part of Thisby, but Thisby does not want to be a part of me. I am twenty-five years old and I am not the picture of poverty or weather-worn native of the little, unchanging island. I bring three things to the island: my gear, my dog, and my mule. I am determined to have Thisby, even if Thisby will not have me.
1. Introduction

_Introduction_

My name is Julia Jones, or JJ, and I want to be a part of Thisby, but Thisby does not want to be a part of me.

I grew up on the edge of North America. A place where the hissing of the sea beating the sides of the cliff was a lullaby begging me to feel the cold spray of ocean foam on my face, to let the waves carry me away.

I grew up on a farm with animals, where you get an understanding of life and death before you can even write your own name properly. I grew up on the back of a horse. I grew up with the wind at my back and the world at my feet. I grew up without fear of anything. I grew up with nightmares of _capaill uisce _plaguing me almost every night. Most importantly, I grew up with the sick desire to see, and take place in, the infamous Scorpio Races.

I am twenty-five years old and I am not the picture of poverty or weather-worn native of the little, unchanging island. They are dark with responsibility and worry. I am golden with opportunity.

The men and women that live on this unforgiving rock, an exposed vertebrae rising out from the back of the ocean, are carved by wind and water. They are unpolished diamond; they do not glitter in the sunlight but are just as tough. They bear their teeth at those who refuse to leave when they've overstayed their welcome.

I am a riverbank, changing as the water chooses to shape me. I am soft sand carried across a desert in a windstorm. I am privileged and do not know the true taste of hunger. I don't know what it's like to want for anything. I am the stranger the wolves of Thisby turn against.

But I am determined to have Thisby, even if Thisby will not have me.

•••

I arrived on the island via ferry from the mainland five years ago; I was twenty and had been traveling the world for three years prior. My father said the only reason my mother had no problem birthing me was because my lungs and gut were full of helium instead of oxygen, and instead of sinking, I floated. I suppose in a way, he's right.

I've never felt particularly connected to the earth or the ocean or the sky, but I've also never yearned for anything more than to simply escape the ball and chain of stagnant routine. My desire to travel was, and still is, a fire that could not be quenched, and I am merely ashes now in its wake.

Being that I have come from money means that I was never exactly tied to my hometown and my father made sure that I had enough travel time in my bones each year to keep me from running away from the family in the event they would actually need me. I had seen most of the world by the time I graduated high school at seventeen, but I'd not done a single thing alone until then.

I can remember the first time someone spoke of the _capaill uisce_ and the deadly race that happened every November on an island that, at first, sounded like a mythological place than an actual point on any map.

I had had been sent down to the docks to fetch fresh lobster for dinner –it was my parent's anniversary and I had told them I would cook for them. It was a rare offer from me, and they had been pleased enough to do my chores for me so I could retrieve the proper items I needed. The man dealing the lobster was rotund with rosy cheeks I knew were not colored by the sun, but rather the wind and the sea salt and the sand he'd encountered in his years as a fisherman.

He spoke idly to another vendor about murderous water horses that sometimes burst from the waves on the beach of a place he called This-bay. I, a naturally curious young girl, had poked and prodded him as we bartered the price of his lobster for information on these creatures and this place. He filled my head with visions of horses with coats slick from seawater and lips foaming red with blood. He spoke of how only the bravest of men dared to try to tame them and ride them in a race that was sometimes a race to their death. I was captivated. But by the time we were done and I had my lobster and a head full of monsters, I realized I did not know what these creatures were called. I asked him and he only smiled and walked away. It wasn't until I realized that he'd actually told me, but at the time the name had sounded like the groaning of a swollen ocean in a storm.

_Capaill usice._

I arrived home declaring that I was going to become a jockey –though I'd never run a horse in a straight line at a sustained gallop simply for the thrill of running in my life, I was a girl of stadium jumping and cross country courses—and my father laughed. "JJ," he said with mirth thickening his already deep voice, "you'll do yourself no good dreaming of riding monsters. You'll only be rewarded with a head full of nightmares."

But I couldn't help it.

From that moment on, I tortured myself with thoughts of horses that smelled of dead coral and rotting fish. I dreamed of their teeth ripping into my chest and digging my heart out, taking it to sea. I dreamed, always, of me on their backs with nothing but the horizon stretching before us, the setting sun a thing to catch. I was intoxicated to get to this far, far away island. Everything I did was in preparation for getting to this place. I learned to train horses from my father; I learned to speak their unspoken language. I became the woman I thought I needed to be. I was strong and full of pride with no hint of humility or fear in sight.

Then I graduated high school, and suddenly I cut myself loose and floated away on an unexpected breeze. I visited places I'd seen once with my parents, but now I was alone. I didn't stay anywhere for too long, and I certainly didn't bother making friends. I was not traversing the globe looking for partners. I was simply doing it because that was what my capricious soul had told me to do.

But three years came and went, and I was twenty when I returned back to the family farm in California. My parents were happy to greet me, but frowned when I told them I was not staying for long. I had only returned to take three things: my gear, my dog, and my mule.

I took my saddles and bridles and wraps and whips because if I was going to tame something that the wild November Sea gave birth to, I was going to need the things I was comfortable in.

I took my dog, a middle aged hound with no spectacular breeding named Ed, because if I was going to a place I didn't know, I was going to need something familiar at my side.

I took my mule, an ugly white creature named Roach, because I'd once seen him mutilate a mountain lion that'd been stalking our crop of yearlings. If I was going to be playing with monsters of my nightmares, I was going to need something brave enough to face the shadows with me.

I was determined for Thisby to become a part of me, even if Thisby did not want me to become a part of it.

**A/N**: well it's been a while since i've been active, hasn't it? to my old watchers, hello! to the new ones i might have, hello to you too! i've recently been captivated by maggie stiefvater's the scorpio races. it is a world that has sunk its hooks into me and will not let me go. this is a story set in the world of TSR and an indeterminate amount of time after the end of the book itself. the world has not changed in the slightest, and the people of thisby are as frigid as the waters that surround their island. jj is a work of my own, but the world i have placed her in is not. enjoy!


	2. 1 - Acquiring Cattivo

Chapter one

_Acquiring Cattivo, five years earlier_

It is four in the morning and I, like most of the island, am asleep.

I have not been on Thisby very long, but I am exhausted from the constant stream of interest I have garnered since I stepped off the ferry in my strange clothes with my strange dog and strange mule. Some of the people's interest is honest; some of it I can tell is bordering on something close to malice.

The man on the docks, recognizing my expensive clothes, fined me a hefty sum for the livestock I brought in. He told me it is rare that things come to Thisby to stay, that they are used to exports. He told me it was for the safety and wellness of the animals on the island. But I know it is because he saw me, _a woman_ with no sway in his world, and knew I had money. However, a small part of me had feared that he would not allow me to proceed any further than the docks, so I, with my tongue stuck firmly to the inside of my cheek, paid him.

Since then, everyone had been curious about what type of foreigner would willingly move to the island that smelled like fish and sometimes killed its inhabitants out of what might seem like sheer spite. The news quickly spread that I was here to capture, train, and race a _capall _of my own_._ The tides quickly changed and the malevolence in a few people's curiosity soon appeared. It did not matter that the famed Puck Connolly had raced and was a woman, it did not matter that some girls found the bravery to partake in the race each year since then.

What mattered was that I was not only female, but I was a female outsider and so, they do not want me here.

I lived on the far eastern edge of Thisby, a seemingly isolated place for someone who knows nothing about the world they have just entered in. But the little house with its two stable barn and paddock felt like home the second I'd seen it on my first visit to the island.

I have learned from the last five months I've spent here, that nothing comes easy on this unforgiving island. I am curled up in my bed, sore from a failed attempt to catch a _capall. _The burning humiliation put in a foul mood and after I'd fed Roach and fetched scraps for Ed, I wanted nothing more than to go and lay down and forget the smirks on the faces of the locals as a _capall_ slipped between my fingers. The men and women here are grizzly bears, adept to catching fish with their bare hands. I felt like a fox on the banks, no amount of cunning can capture the sea if you don't have the strength to do so.

Their jeers and taunts follow me in to my dreams, and when I jolt awake somewhere around four in the morning, I realize the lonely atmosphere has changed. Ed has noticed it too and is standing at the door growling. There's a strange pang of fear that finds its way in to my heart. I think of the _capaill uisce_ and their vicious teeth and cold eyes. For a split second, I fear that one has made it this far inland. After all, it is early October, and the locals say this is when the waterhorses start to terrorize the island from time to time.

I realize I have nothing I can protect myself with, and I think of Roach and though I try, I find no pity for him. He can handle his own, of this I am sure.

Without noticing, I have crawled out of my bed and am standing by the door, my ear pressed against the aged wood, listening for whatever has made Ed stand on edge. However, there is nothing outside. Curiosity grips me and I dare to take a peek outside. I crack the door open and hold Ed back with my leg, growling warningly at him as he begins to bark at things I cannot see.

Finally, I hear a voice. "Ho!"

I take a moment to decide whether or not the person connected to the voice is friendly enough to engage in the early hours of the morning. My heart is hammering in my chest from the uncertainty. I swallow the lump in my throat. "What do you want?" I say, perhaps a little unfriendly. But then again, given the time of day, I do not think it is unsociable at all.

The person is inching closer; I can hear the shuffling of their feet on the gravel of my walkway. Finally they are close enough that I can barely make out their form. A slender young man made pale by the moonlight. I cannot recognize his features due to the shadows, but for some reason I allow myself to trust him and I slip out of my house and shut the door behind me, leaving Ed whining uneasily in my wake. "Well?"

"You're going to race, aren't you?"

"Yes." I do not see why we have to speak about this issue right now. I am beginning to miss the warmth of my bed as the chill of the October morning bites at my exposed skin.

"Do you have a horse yet or are you going to ride on that white nag you brought?" I can hear a touch of mocking in his voice and, though I do not realize it, I groan in annoyance.

"If I had a _capall_ of my own, do you not think that the rest of the island would be buzzing with the news of it? Or if I had plans to ride Roach, his name would be on everyone's lips and I a laughing stock of the island?"

He shifts uneasily. "I suppose you're right."

I snap at him, "I know I am. Has your curiosity been sated, may I go back to bed?" When he does not speak, I _tsk_ at him and make a move to leave him standing in my walkway.

"Wait, wait! I came here to tell you that I know where you can get a _capall_ for yourself."

I pause, my hand hovering over the knob on my door. "There are two places to get them; the waves or from someone else willing to sell their stock. I already knew that. And I have tried both. Neither man nor sea have been willing to help me, and I don't see what more you can do."

"I can't do anything for you," he says indignantly, "but I know someone who will sell to you." I do not indulge him with any words, merely a raise of my brow that I am surprised he sees in the darkness. "There's a young _capaill uisce _that no one really knows about. He's being kept at Kendrick stables."

I take a sharp breath. The descendents of Puck and Sean Kendrick have already proven be a tightly knit bunch of people. Though they were less hostile towards me, I have already noticed the wildness that brims to the tops of their souls. When I met Lynn Kendrick, the current owner of the grand stables, shaking her hand felt a lot like holding the line of a powerful stallion. She did not shake her head nor stomp a hoof at me, but I knew that she could crush me if she so wanted.

"And why would the Kendricks sell a precious waterhorse to me?" I ask.

"Because this is one absolutely no one wants," he tells me.

Of course I am not going to get the top of the line, I should not be surprised or offended; but I am. "I do not want something that no one wants," I say through gritted teeth. He doesn't say anything, and so I am forced to ask more about this creature than I am truly interested in knowing. I roll my eyes. "So _why_ is no one interested in this animal?"

"Most horsemen here say that it shouldn't have even been born." I scoff at him. I do not have time to tame a bad omen. "The Kendricks bred some land-bound _capaiil uisce_. Most of the crop that were born in March died the second their lungs filled with air and not water…save for one."

My interest has been piqued. "And this one is for sale because?"

"Well he's not for sale."

"I don't understand." I run a hand through my tangled blond hair; I don't have time for this. "So what's wrong with it?"

"He's sick. He's hard to handle. He ate my cat yesterday."

I stiffen. "I don't want an animal you're pawning off on me because you are mad at it."

"I'm not mad at it. I'm just trying to tell you that if you want a mount in a few years to take place in the races with, you might find him suitable."

I narrow my eyes. "What's your name again?" He seems offended I cannot tell who he is in the gloom. "I'm new, remember? I don't know every single person in every single corner of this place like you might." Finally, he softens a little.

"You can call me Ty."

"Alright, well, Ty…thanks for the strangely timed news, but I'm going to go back to bed now." I begin to push the door in and he makes a noise that I know means to stall me. I whip back around to face him and snarl, "_what_?"

He scuffs the toe of his boots into the dirt, avoiding my burning gaze. "Don't tell anyone I sent you," he mumbles.

"If I go at all."

"Well when you do-"

"If."

He begins to walk away now, talking to me over his shoulder. "_If_ you do, don't mention my name. Just ask to see Cattivo, and hold your ground when Lynn tells you no."

When I can finally no longer make out Ty's form in the early morning darkness, I realize just who I was talking to.

Ty is Lynn Kendrick's son.

•••

It is nine in the morning and I, like most of the island, am awake

I feel like a hive of bees, humming and excitable.

Initially, I was not inclined to take Ty Kendrick's advice. I sat at the kitchen table instead of going to bed until the sun came up, trying to decipher the true meaning of our midnight rendezvous. I try to place the first time I saw Ty, because as I recall, his voice was vaguely familiar to me long before I saw him up close.

It took a good hour before I realized that Ty worked at the docks. He was there hauling fishing nets onto a boat when I unloaded my mule and packed my belongings onto his back. We had locked eyes for a moment as I passed the vessel he was on, and he shot me a smirk as he judged me. I had let it slide, as I have done everyone else's judgment on this island, because it does not matter what the people here think of me. I just need them to let me be here and work and race alongside them. I don't ask for their approval.

In the end, despite my doubt, I decided to at least take a look at Cattivo. I know it is not possible, but perhaps I will see something in this supposedly sick, bad mannered weanling that the Kendricks, or anyone else, do not.

I quickly fed Roach and Ed and scrubbed my face and put my blond hair up in a messy bun. I do not have time to look perfect today, and I am not out to impress these people. I grab my leather jacket from its hook by the door and after battling to get out the door without Ed, I decide to let the dumb brown dog to go into town with me.

We walk along the road, sticking to the side as horses pulling carts, men pulling carts, and various people on bicycles rush by us on their daily business. For once, I am not pulling strange stares. It feels nice to be able to simply go about my business without being stopped and questioned about my motives for being here.

Kendrick Stables is not an establishment you can miss. The land spans several acres and is rimmed by an impressively tall rock wall. There are five buildings easily seen from the road –I recognize all but one of them as stables. It is a grand place, and just as it did the first time I saw it, it takes my breath away. But now not because I am drawn in by the grandeur of it all, but because I know that somewhere on these grounds is a woman with a gaze like an ocean storm and a voice that brims with distant thunder.

I am not afraid of Lynn Kendrick. I am afraid she will say no and I'll have wasted my time. I am afraid that news of yet another failed attempt at getting my own _capall _will spread like fire.

I cannot have Lynn Kendrick telling me no. I suddenly decide that I will have Cattivo, even if she doesn't want me to.

I push the gate to the grand estate open and am sure to close it behind me, knowing that it is practically a crime punishable by law on a farm to not leave a gate the way you found it. The stables offer a comfortable, familiar setting for me and though I do not want to be, I am relaxed.

I do not ring at the front door of the house in search of Lyn, knowing that I will be more likely to find her in the stables showing her animals to men and women who have traveled many miles for her horses. The place is crawling with activity. Mares and stallions, _capaill uisce _and horses nicker, neigh, and keen at one another.

Everything feels so, so alive.

Grooms notice mine and Ed's presence before I notice theirs, and instantly they are up in my face asking me if I need anything. I am a bit taken aback by their attentiveness and simply tell them I am searching for Lynn. A short man with graying hair points to the back of the barn and explains she's in the riding fields. I thank them and leave them to go back about their business.

Lynn Kendrick, a lot like her farm, is not a woman you can easily miss. She is tall and slender and even beneath the clothes she wears to ward off the biting October winds wafting from the Atlantic ocean, you can see she has the muscle mass of a woman who has spent every day of her life in a barn. The most striking thing about her is her hair. It is windswept and as red as hair can get. Tied in with a piercing gaze, she makes for a formidable woman; but I saw her smile when we first met. There is kindness in her, I just don't believe that she feels everyone is deserving of it.

Lynn is on the back of a young grey mare who is shifting uneasily beneath her and begging to be given her head. Lynn keeps a tight hold on the horse and looks at the crowd that's gathered. There are a few men at the fence of the ring and are discussing things amongst themselves. As I draw closer, I recognize that they are discussing the Scorpio Race coming up in a few weeks. I shouldn't have been surprised, that seems to be all that's on anyone's mind.

Lynn accosts them for their inattentiveness. "Gentlemen, are you more interested in seeing what this mare can do for you back on the mainland, or would you rather go down to the pub and gossip like old maids over a pint of ale about who might or might not be running in the races this year?" I smile involuntarily as the men snap their attention back on to her.

She is given a few nods and shameful mutters. Obviously pleased by this, Lynn digs her heels into the sides of the nimble grey mare. The pair springs away from where they were standing, leaving a spray of dirt behind them. Lynn is a natural rider; she curls over the back of the mare and almost looks like they are not two beings, but one. I am entranced by their performance.

Lynn guides the horse around the ring, jumping a few obstacles before laying her flat out and urging her in to a full gallop. Eventually she brings the mare back to where they'd been standing. I am surprised to see that the grey is barely winded. Her tail is lifted and creates a streamlined look from beginning to end. She is wide eyed and attentive. Chomping at the bit for more, but Lynn doesn't give her more. Instead she dismounts and hands the reins to a groom who walks the mare away.

The men are hooked. Whether it's her on their minds or the power of the mare they'd just seen, I don't know nor do I care. Lynn doesn't seem to either. Instead, she tells them that if they are truly interested in buying Nasreen, they are to speak to her head trainer and co-owner of the farm, Adley. Then she brushes past them and heads towards the house. I think she doesn't notice me but she stops and turns to me. "Come to the house, will you?" she asks me.

I don't dare say no. I allow her to dictate the terms for now, so I follow her up to the stone house. We are silent the entire way there; I am simply a shadow at her heels. It is a strange position for me to be in. I am not used to being openly ignored. Then again, I am not foolish enough to think that she has completely forgotten my presence.

Still, she does not speak to me until we are inside the house, surrounded by wood and warmth. Involuntarily, I kept an eye out for Ty, but I quickly realize he is not here. "Have a seat," Lynn tells me as she points to the kitchen table. I comply. "Tea?" she asks.

"I don't like tea," I tell her, but suck in a sharp breath as she looks at me as if I've offended her, but she sets down a mug in front of me anyway. I don't reach out to take it.

Lynn sits down across from me and drops sugar into her tea and stirs it gingerly before sipping at it. All the while, she keeps her grey eyes on me. I don't move, I barely even breathe. "So," she finally says after a few moments of tense silence, "what brings the curious Julia Jones to my farm?"

"Business." If she wasn't interested in me before, she is now. It is only a tiny shift in her body, but I can see her jaw tighten a little.

"Business? Well, you should talk to my sister Adley. She handles the business, I handle the horses."

"And you do a good job of it."

Lynn smiles, but it is only a formality. Her voice barely hints anything of happiness. "I know."

"I would prefer to talk to you, though. My business is with horses."

"Then perhaps we should include Adley in our conversation."

"I don't have time to wait for your sister to finish selling that grey mare to the highest bidder," I tell her.

Lynn laughs. It's unforgiving. "You have no horse to train, no man to entertain, no children to raise, and no real place to be. You, Julia Jones, have all the time in the world."

I quickly realize that Lynn has been testing me the second I refused to take her tea. I see her game now, and so I put my foot down. "I don't want to wait," I tell her testily.

"What do you want, then?" Lynn is now smiling at me again, I think I see a hint of fondness twitching in her otherwise hard expression.

"I want to see Cattivo." The second I speak, the smile slides off of Lynn's face and she closes back up again.

"No." She ends the conversation by standing up and turning her back to me, attending to the dishes from breakfast that I assume Ty left behind. Though I am expected to give up and walk out of the house, I stay put. I even drop a few spoonfuls of sugar in the rapidly cooling mug of tea that was set in front of me. I clink the spoon against the side of the mug, reminding her that I'm still here.

"Cattivo isn't for sale," she tells me stiffly, her back still facing me.

"I know."

She turns to face me. "Then _why_ are you still here?"

I take a breath. "Because I want to see Cattivo."

"He is not for sale. Pick someone else to see."

"I hear he's sickly."

"So?"

"What use do you have with a sickly weanling?"

"What use do _you_ have with a sickly weanling?"

She has a point. I really don't have any business even wanting to look at Cattivo. I shouldn't want him. But I do. Lynn notices my hesitation and wavering determination. "Go find someone to help you capture a _capall_." I sigh angrily.

"I don't need help."

"Then why are you here? Asking to buy a sick _capaill uisce_ will not get you in the races any time soon."

"If he is sick and you have no use for him, why not sell him? A farm can't run with dead weight like him."

She sighs as angrily as I did a minute ago. "Cattivo has good blood in him."

"Good breeding in a sick horse is as useless as putting expensive clothes on a chimney sweep." She doesn't say anything; her lips are pulled into a tight line. "Let me at least see the colt," I say.

The silence prevails and I expect her to refuse again, but her shoulders slump and Lynn rubs her face. "Fine. Fine, fine, fine. You can look at Cattivo. He's eating way too much and giving me too little in return. If you can get him out of the stall, you can have him."

I don't want to smile, but I feel relieved she's going to give me a chance. I stand up and reach my hand out towards her, "that sounds like a deal."

Lynn doesn't take my hand; instead she just sort of offers me a stiff nod and walks out of the kitchen. I follow her. I want to say something. I want to say thank you, but I don't think she's going to even appreciate it if I did so. Instead I keep quiet as we wind around a path that takes us to the smallest barn farthest away from the others.

As we enter the small building, I realize that it's empty save for two stalls. One of them contains a sleek looking chestnut with a fine head and wide eyes. I stop at this stall, captivated by the animal. He is beautiful, and for a moment I think I can see why Lynn is reluctant to part with him. "This is Cattivo?" I ask.

She laughs at me. "That's Cadoc." She says like I should know every single horse on this farm, and in a way it reminds me of the way her son acted offended that I didn't recognize him right away. She points at the small, muddy brown colt in the stall next to Cadoc. "That is Cattivo."

I make a face. Cattivo is nothing special. He is hovering in the back of the stall which makes him look even smaller than I'm sure he really is. His brown baby fur is giving way to a dull black coat. He has a thin white blaze and four white socks. He wheezes with every breath and occasionally he circles the stall, and as he passes the front he pins his ears and bares his teeth at us. Cattivo is ugly. Cattivo is nothing that I want. "Oh."

"So tell me, Julia Jones, do you still want this horse?" I want to say no. I want to walk away from this. I want to go to the beach and wait to capture a full grown _capall_. I don't want this horse. I want something better. I want Cadoc. She sees my eye wandering to the chestnut colt. "Cadoc is _definitely_ not for sale."

I, unfortunately, say the first thing that comes to my mind. "Is this it?"

Lynn almost smirks at me. "It is. I'll sell him to you for two hundred. One for the time you've just wasted, and another hundred because he ate my son's cat yesterday and all Tyler has done since then is whine about it. It's giving me a headache."

"That's two hundred _after_ I get him out of the stall, right?" She nods and disappears for a moment before returning with a halter. I hesitate but take it from her, and she begins to walk away.

"Stop by the house to drop the money off when you get him out of the stall," she tells me before leaving me alone with Cattivo glaring at me from the corner of his stall and Cadoc peering at me curiously.

It takes me an hour to slip the halter over Cattivo's head. It takes me another three to get him out of the stall, but I manage it. Dragging him up the path to the house is a chore, even with a rope looped around his hind end he still refuses to move forward at a regular pace. When I tie him down to give Lynn the money I promised, he immediately jerks back on his restraints. I roll my eyes in annoyance at him.

Lynn and I do not talk much. Instead she seems softer, if not impressed I've at least made it this far with the obstinate colt. I hand her the money and she gives me a few things that'll help me keep him alive. She tells me to watch for his teeth, to watch his body language. These are all things I already know, but I let her tell me anyway. She tells me, most importantly of all, to always, always mind the sea with him. Lastly, she asks if I'll come back for tea tomorrow. I want to tell her I don't like tea, but I decide against it. Instead I smile and accept her invitation and leave to work on getting Cattivo back home before dark.

By the end of the day, I am certain of three things: I do not really want Cattivo, Cattivo doesn't want me, I made a mistake.


	3. 2 - Headache

Chapter two

_Headache_

It's been five months since I painstakingly dragged Cattivo home.

I still remember that day clearly. It was like trying to pull the moon across the sky, begging it to give the sea a higher tide. The ugly black _capaill uisce _colt balked at every point of pressure the halter on his head provided. No one really offered me any help that day. Most of them simply stood slack jawed in surprise that I'd managed to coax Lynn Kendrick to sell her precious experiment. Though it's not to say that no one tried to help. One or two men came up and offered to push Cattivo from behind, but the stubborn colt had kicked out at them each time they tried to touch him. One or two well-landed blows later, everyone decided to just leave the two of us to our own devices.

My shoulders still scream in protest when I think about that day.

Owning my on _capall _is not as glamorous as I thought it would be. Cattivo is stubborn. Cattivo is destructive. Cattivo is a nightmare. I put him in the one stall not occupied by my equally grumpy mule, and all Cattivo does is pace and bang against the boards. I put him in the pasture and all he does is stand in the farthest corner trying to get a glimpse of the sea. He does not understand why the ocean calls to him, and I cannot hear the song it sings to his heart; but I can see what it does to him. He yearns for something he's never had. He screams all night long and gives me no peace. Cattivo is a headache.

I am no stranger to working with obstinate colts that want nothing to do with having someone half their weight ordering them around, and I treat Cattivo no differently. Every day I work on conditioning him to my touch, to the feel of things on his back or in his mouth. My attempts at breaking him thus far have resulted in a dislocated shoulder and a two fractured fingers and some missing skin here and there when I don't pay enough attention to where his teeth are. Lynn assures me that she thinks that Cattivo actually likes me more than he's ever liked any other human that's come into contact with him. I don't see it. All I see is a horse hell bent on succumbing to the siren song of the Scorpio Sea.

Three months ago I decided something apparently unheard of. I needed to geld Cattivo.

I grew up on a farm, so the removal of any animal's testicles is no secret surgery to me, but apparently the notion of gelding what many have told me will one day be a fine _capall _is taboo to the people of Thisby. I only found this out when I started to ask around for one or two men to help hold him down while I did what I believed desperately needed to be done. It seemed virtually no one was willing to help me, so when my parents came to visit me two days ago, I put them to good use and took Cattivo's balls. He didn't need them anyway.

If the potentially traumatizing process has done anything to hinder my horse's ability to act like an asshole in the middle of the night, then he has not made it clear. I thought that gelding him would at least diminish his need to stand in the corner of his pasture every night and scream at the ocean like a fool. It has not. I lay awake at night and wonder all the bitter ways I couldthank Tyler Kendrick for making me think I needed Cattivo in the first place.

I saw my parents off on the ferry this morning, their stay was brief but I enjoyed their company. My corner of the island gets lonely when the sun goes down. All I have to keep me company is the shrill keening of Cattivo, Roach's occasional annoyed braying, and Ed's snores. I am surrounded by noises that assure me I am not alone, but I cannot shake the cold feeling of isolation that sets into my bones at night. My parent's departure back to the mainland and then eventually back home to America was a bitter sweet one, but they promised to come back when they have time and my father promised that when I have a viable mount for the Scorpio Races, they will come watch.

I stood on the docks and watched their ferry disappear into the early morning fog, a local elder stopped his morning routine to fill my head with tales of hungry _capaill uisce _downing ships this time of year. The thought of my parents being dragged to the bottom of the Scorpio Sea to serve as meals for monsters makes my skin crawl.

I spotted Ty Kendrick as I left the docks when I could no longer see the ferry. I wanted to say something to him (I hate how each time I am at Kendrick Stables I involuntarily look for him), but he looked through me as if I was fog as well. It annoys me. But there is nothing I can do about it, because he is engrossed in his work, and I do not want to waste my time on a boy who will not look me in the eye.

I wander around town, reluctant to go back home to my empty house and angry _capall_. Today I am not in the mood to listen to Cattivo yell at the sea and expect for the sea to reply to him. I realize now, as I pop in and out of stores, that despite the fact that I have been here for almost a year, I have not spent much time exploring the island I now call home. My blinding ambition to take place in the Scorpio Races has robbed me of socializing, and so I take my time today. I buy useless things from Fathom & Sons, I sample pastries from Palsson's, I even make a note to see what I can get to feed Cattivo tonight from the butcher shop.

For the most part, I spend my day undisturbed. People stop and talk to me momentarily; but I think it's all just politeness. I am now a familiar face to them, and thus they feel the need to include me in at least two seconds of conversation. I am grateful for their attention, even if it is fleeting. By the time the sun is beginning to set and a storm is threatening us on the horizon, I feel less forlorn than I did this morning standing in the fog on the docks. I might even go as far as to saying that I am in a good mood. I think of buying Ed a bone or two as I make my way to the butcher shop.

Though I am not too terribly aware of it, it seems that everyone worth talking to treats the Gratton-owned butcher shop as the local tavern. Old men and young boys gather in the dying light and gossip like old maids. They talk about their horses and the races, and as I wait in line for Gene Gratton to take my order, I almost feel comfortable amongst the rowdy, drunk mob of men and unruly women.

Until I feel a hand on my shoulder, pulling me around, that is.

The gesture drags me off balance, and already I feel my temper rising. I shake the hand from my shoulder and growl a lot like Ed does when he feels threatened. "I hear you gelded that _capall_ Lynn was nice enough to sell you," says the man who grabbed me.

It takes a moment for me to put a name to the face, but when I do, my scowl deepens. Roger 'Red' Maud is barrel chested with dark copper hair, though people have told me it's not the unruly mop on top his head that got him his nickname. Red, I was told, is the island's rabble-rouser. He terrorizes the races each year with a wild grey _capaill uisce_ that's killed at least three men to date, but the mare runs straight when she doesn't have the flesh of a man between her teeth and so she has won the last two races that she's been entered in.

Red is an infamous, almost unwanted anti-hero of Thisby.

I feel threatened in his shadow, but I don't dare shrink away from him. "Thank you for telling me something I already know," I say in a defensive tone.

He offers me a horrible grin. "You know that's not how we do things here."

I notice that slowly, the butcher shop has begun to quiet. I itch under the unwanted attention. "I think I've made it very clear that your traditions and I don't get along." I just want to get my meat and go home, but Red is obviously not interested in letting me go about my way. I hear a few men begin to mumble amongst themselves about my strange practice of gelding my colt. Immediately, I am annoyed. "Does the idea of a stallion losing his balls make you uneasy, Red?" I hiss at him, but intend for everyone to hear.

Red laughs at me. "It's just wrong," he says, crossing his arms against his chest. "What if you want him to sire foals for you."

"I'm not here to breed," I tell him. "I'm here to race."

"Is that ugly white mule of yours gelded too?" Red asks with an awful sneer on his face.

"He is."

"Did you do that yourself as well?"

"I did."

"Perhaps," Red says thoughtfully, "instead of referring to you as JJ the newcomer, we can now call you JJ the ball snatcher."

I can't believe I'm having this conversation with this man at all, and I think he can see the dismay in my expression, because he laughs at me, and the people who've been listening in on our exchange chuckle as well. I do not understand why giving my colt two less things to think about is such an issue. My annoyance is bubbling up higher and higher in my stomach; I can feel it in the back of my throat now. "Why are you so upset by what I've done to my horse, Red?"

But Red is no longer paying attention to me. He's making jokes amongst his friends and those who will listen about how I, 'JJ the ball snatcher' will take anyone's manhood if they let me get too close. I roll my eyes and ignore their drunken guffawing and instead step up to the counter and order meat for Cattivo and ask for scrap bones for Ed. The men behind me are still chuckling amongst themselves by the time Gene brings me my wrapped meat. I thank him and pay for it and go to leave.

Red doesn't seem to want to let me go. He grabs my arm again as I go to walk out the door, and once more I rip out of his grip. I begin to wonder if he'd even feel it if I bother to punch him. "You know," Red says loudly, "they boys and I reckon there's probably a rule against letting cut stallions race."

I don't have time for this. "I've read the race rules, and there's nothing against a gelding running in the races. Not everything needs a pair of balls between their legs to do things better. If that were true, women would most certainly be the inferior sex." Red doesn't reply, and instead he just glares at me. Though I know it is not true, I feel as if I've won. I push past Red and make my way home.

I do not have time for the pathetic mewling of men like Red. Not now, not ever.

On my way back home, still seething from my encounter with Red, I pass Ty on the road. Part of me wants to snap at him for setting me on the road to where I am now. Part of me wants to ask him why he refuses to look at me. Instead, I simply walk by him, our shoulders brushing. I know he knows I exist, but I am growing tired of him pretending I don't. I still remember him coming to my house in the early morning hours, the night like a blanket on our shoulders. Tyler Kendrick would not have told me about Cattivo simply because the ugly black colt ate his cat. I want to know why, but Ty is proving to be as slippery as a _capall _fresh from the sea. I cannot hold him down, and he continually slides between my fingers like sea foam. The day has given me plenty of things to be frustrated over, and so I stomp my way home.

Once back, I find Cattivo waiting for me. For once, he is not in the far corner of the pasture straining to get a look at the tempestuous ocean that hammers the cliff the house is perched on. He does not nicker at me, but I know it is I who he was waiting for. There's a brief moment of affection for my ugly black colt that warms my heart as I throw the cuts of meat I bought him.

Roach does not welcome my presence the way Cattivo does, but I am not surprised. Roach, my cranky old curmudgeon of a mule, has never liked me. Or anyone, for that matter. If he were human, he'd be the type to sit on his front porch and throw things at neighborhood children for laughing too loudly. He glares at me as I give him his oats and throw him a flake of hay. I glare back.

As I settle in for the night, Cattivo's tranquility has worn away and by the time I'm climbing into bed, he is screaming again. I feel my head beginning to pound. I try to think of something else, but the _capaill uisce_'s keening keeps me distracted.

The gelding of my horse, which has earned me a whole slew of unwanted attention, has obviously done nothing at all. I grit my teeth and put a pillow over my head. Ed curls up at my feet, whining and shivering each time the colt outside howls.

Cattivo is a headache I never should have bothered to mess with.

•••

After a sleepless night and farm chores, I have somehow found myself back in Lynn Kendrick's kitchen with a mug of tea I won't touch. This is not the first time this has happened, and probably not the last. I did not come here on my own accord. I was invited, as I am every Saturday. I found a note on a bale of hay in my little barn. Part of me wonders if Lynn ordered her son to drop it off on his way down to the docks, but I don't think too much into it. I tell myself I wouldn't have wanted to talk to him if he passed by my place anyway. It's easier if that becomes my internal mantra. I will not waste my time on a boy who does not want to waste his time on me.

Lynn is standing with her back to me as she scrubs her hands beneath a flow of cold water. I spent an hour watching her work her horses. I saw Adley once or twice, but I am finding that she is more like a ghost around the barns than an actual presence. I want to ask Lynn how she and her sister have managed to differ completely, but I do not think it would be appropriate if I dug into her family dynamics.

Rather than prying, I sit and peer at my steaming cup of tea, wondering silently to myself if it'd hurt me to try it just this once, but I don't. Instead I sit in silence until Lynn sits across from me and initiates conversation. "How's Cattivo?"

I have been waiting for this question from her for months now. At first I thought she forgot about our transaction, but she clearly has not. I shift a little in my seat. I know that the eventual question about me gelding him is coming. I do not think I can handle it if Lynn Kendrick is disgusted by my irreversible actions as well. I think of last night, but I still lie through my teeth. "He's…alright."

Lynn smiles at me. "He's a nuisance, isn't he?"

"I don't think you had to call me down here for tea if you already knew that."

"Well I was just a little curious if a change of scenery for him would have made a difference."

"He's as unchanging as this island," I tell her.

"That he is." I don't know if Lynn is offended or amused. Maybe I should just learn to keep my mouth shut. "So I heard interesting news this morning." I groan inwardly. "Why don't you keep him in a stall?"

Having expected the gelding conversation, my face slips a little in expression. "He's happier outside," I tell her honestly. "He's also just as noisy in as he is out."

"Are you not worried he'll jump the fence and return to the sea?"

"You mean the place he never came from? Yeah, I'm not worried at all."

"But he wants to go, doesn't he?"

"He stands in the far corner of the pasture all night long howling at the ocean. He wants to go, but is too lazy to jump the fence."

Lynn laughs. "Lazy? What makes you say that?"

"Do you really not know your own horse?"

It is Lynn's turn to shift uncomfortably. "I admit I did not spend as much time with him as I should, but his birth killed his dam. I was quite fond of her, and I guess you could say I felt guilty that she died, and Cattivo was an extension of that guilt."

I feel bad for Lynn. "Well, Cat's a lazy son of a bitch." She laughs. "He's had every opportunity to take chunks out of my mule, but has merely eyed him in contempt before turning away. He could leap over the walls that keep him from his much desired freedom, but he does not. He simply stands in the corner at night and keens until he's hoarse. He glares at Roach but doesn't dare mess with him. Cat could do plenty of things, but he simply chooses not to. Whether out of apathy or laziness, I'm not sure, but I'm comfortable with just assuming that he's simply lazy."

"Lazy can be trained out of a horse, but apathy is something that follows them like a cloud."

"As if I'd need yet another obstacle to train around," I say tartly.

"_Capaill uisce _are not easy to train, I'm sure anyone on the island would have told you if you'd bothered to ask." Lynn uses a tone that reminds me of my mother, it makes my stomach clench.

"Oh I was well aware that nothing about this was going to be easy," I tell her stiffly, "I'm just saying his potential apathy could add another problem to the mix."

We fall into a somewhat uncomfortable silence; I stare at my cup of tea again. I almost reach for it, but Lynn distracts me. "So you chose to geld Cattivo."

I cringe openly. "I did."

"That was probably a smart move." I am surprised by her encouragement.

"It's just a practice I'm used to performing at home when a colt is born that we don't intend on breeding and is too much to handle as a stallion. I figured it would be a useful strategy for Cat, but he hasn't really changed much since."

"Well, it's not like it harmed him any to do it."

I laugh humorlessly. "Though you'd think I killed a man the way some of the men here have acted. Who would have thought that they'd take the removal of an animal's balls so seriously?"

"Red only aims to annoy and intimidate you, you know."

"I know."

"He's all bark and no bite."

"I guessed as much."

"The men here don't take too kindly to anyone deviating from tradition," Lynn says with a sigh, "it's been generations since my great-grandmother rode in the Scorpio races, and still the men heckle any girl or woman who dares to enter each year, me included."

I try to envision anyone on this island talking back to Lynn Kendrick. "You'd think they'd have gotten over it by now."

"Well Julia, as you might have noticed by now, Thisby's a bit stuck in time. We move at a slower pace than the rest of the world. I'm sure one day things will be different, but that day isn't coming any time soon."

Rather than answering, I nod and trace the rim of my now cold mug of tea. Lynn watches me for a moment before taking it away and dumping it in the sink. "You should at least take a sip of it next time instead of staring at it," she says in a motherly tone.

"I don't like tea," I mumble. I know she knows this, and I don't know why she insists on putting a mug in front of me when we both know all I'm ever going to do is stare at it. Silence stretches between us as she sits back down and finishes drinking her own cup of tea, and I, a little foolishly, ask the first thing that comes to my mind when I open my mouth to end the quiet. "Who drops your notes off in my barn in the mornings?"

Lynn looks at me as if I should already know the answer. "Tyler, of course."

_Of course_. Like I'm supposed to know everything that Ty does. I clench my jaw in a thinly veiled attempt to hide my frustration with Tyler Kendrick. "Of course," I echo quietly.

"He doesn't stop to say hello?"

I roll my eyes so hard that I wonder if they'll stick into the back of my head. "No, he does not."

"Well he's the one that offers to take the notes for me." Lynn says this in a light tone that only serves to infuriate me further, and she notices my mark mood. "Don't take it personally, Julia. He's a quiet boy."

"Why doesn't he work in the stables?"

Lynn stiffens a little. "That's something you'll have to ask him," she tells me.

Because I needed more questions to ask Ty, of course. "Sure."

Lynn peers at me over the top of her mug. "I enjoy your company, you know."

"I appreciate you inviting me," I say. "It's nice to know someone here doesn't want to ignore me or harass me."

"Well I ask you here a little selfishly, I must admit. I like to know how Cattivo's doing, and it's easier for me to have you come here than for me to make the trip to where you are."

"Mmm, well. At least I get tea out of it," I say a little too sharply, and instantly I wish I hadn't said anything at all.

However, Lynn doesn't take my words too seriously and she laughs. "At least it's fun for you to look at, right?"

I smile. "Right."

"As I said before, I enjoy you here, but I think we've wasted enough of a Saturday," Lynn says as she stands and puts her mug in the sink behind her. "I have buyers to impress and I'm sure you have things to do as well."

I nod a little, thinking about how the only thing I have to do is corner Tyler Kendrick. I take Lynn's dismissal and head towards the back door, following closely behind her as she slips into her boots and leaves me to my own devices as she heads back to the barns. For a moment, I consider staying and watching Lynn ride some more, but I decide against it. Judging by the slowed activity on the road in front of the farm, I assume that it's near lunch time for the town. This means I'll be able to catch Ty if I hurry down to the docks.

The day is beautiful, a rare thing to be had on Thisby, apparently. The fog that blanketed the island yesterday as my parents sailed back to the mainland has long since dissipated. The sky is blue and the temperature is surprisingly pleasant. But it is growing close to fall, and so that means the weather is about to get unbearable once more.

Last year the races didn't even take place due to a vicious squall that ripped the island in half. If you look hard enough, you can still find debris lying around that hasn't been picked up in the last ten months. You can see boards on the docks that are newer than others from where the winds and the waves tore into the structure.

I count my footsteps as I walk with my head down, ignoring most everyone I pass by. I know that most of the men who work down here all tend to eat near the beach, but since it's almost October, no one in their right mind's willing to brave the unpredictable seas. Instead, they're sitting just a little farther away from the end of the dock, gathered together in a bunched up group of men who've been battered by the unforgiving ocean for most of their life. They smell strongly of fish and ocean water, and I crinkle my nose.

Darrin Cooper, a slightly younger boy who I recognize as Ty's friend, notices my approach and grins. "Well I'll be! Julia Jones; dragged from her far end of the island."

I have not had much experience with Darrin, but I know he's far more expressive than Ty. I frown more to myself as I realize that the person I'm looking for is nowhere to be seen. "Where's Ty?" I ask a little rudely.

Coop smiles and laughs, "he went to the mainland this morning with Marcus."

I roll my eyes and groan. "When will he be back?"

"Oh I dunno," Coop says with a shrug as he shoves a large piece of bread into his mouth, "probably tomorrow." He looks at me and smirks a little as he chews his food, "should I tell him you were here?" I begin to walk away, rubbing my temples as another headache sets in. Coop calls after me and I raise a hand in a rude gesture.

When I finally make it back home, I note that Cattivo has barely moved from the spot I left him in this morning, nor has he touched the hunks of meat I placed in his food bucket. I consider trying to drag him into one of the stalls and forcing him to eat, but I decide that he'll eat when he's hungry.

Instead, I furiously clean the barn and pick Roach's stall before coaxing the white mule out into the pasture with Cat. By the time I'm done with my chores, my head is pounding even worse, and so I crawl into bed and try not to annoy myself any further with thoughts of Tyler Kendrick or Cattivo's inability to turn his back to the ocean.

This island's turning into one big headache for me.


End file.
